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In reply to the discussion: This message was self-deleted by its author [View all]lapislzi
(5,762 posts)Why did I go to the party without my husband, who was working that evening?
Why did I drink so much?
Why did I flirt with the host, whom I knew to be a "player," because he was a close friend and patron of my husband's restaurant?
Why didn't I leave when everybody else left?
I couldn't very well tell my husband. I couldn't tell my husband that his best friend had told me that I'd been "asking for it" for "months" and it was "about time" he "gave it to me."
Guilty as charged. I was guilty of being friendly to my husband's friend as part of my work in the restaurant. I was guilty of feeling a little flattered that this handsome player guy (he was also the Rhodesian Ballroom Dancing Champion for 1979, there I gave it away) would pay attention to me. Guilty of being bored on a Sunday and going to his party rather than staying home and watching TV. Guilty of being nice, because he'd just moved into a new apartment and said he needed a bit of decorating help. Guilty of drinking gin and tonic on a hot day. Guilty of deciding to wait a bit to sober up before driving home. Guilty of having an unguarded vagina, which, as everyone knows, is an invitation to put something inside it, whether the owner is awake, asleep, drunk, unconscious, comatose, bleeding, or resisting ("resisting" just means "try harder" in jerkspeak).
I found out later that I was not the first woman to go through this with Mr. Player. He ran the same plays on a girlfriend of mine who I knew from the restaurant.
I hope that miserable son of a bitch dies alone.